Hey it's been crazy lately so I haven't written a summer update in a while. I started staff training at Tall Timber and it's been AMAZING. I love all the staff and we're a really fun bunch so I think this summer is going to be extremely tiring but a wonderful opportunity to impact the lives of some kids and grow deeper in personal relationships. It was on day four or so of training that my aunt, uncle, cousins and I were suddenly informed of my grandma's passing, so we hopped on a plane and have flown back to california. It's weird being home again and especially for such an occasion. The service was yesterday and it went really well. It was small, but everyone there really genuinely loved my grandma. Grandpa is going through a rough time but it's been good for the family to be spending time all together. Unfortunately, Jessie is in Kneya right now and can't be here which is really too bad, I miss her a lot and I know how special grandma was to her. Today we are having a family BBQ at our house and Grandpa is coming over and we are going to have a slideshow/picture time with him and tell stories about grandma. Sunday, we will be flying back into Seattle then drigin back to camp in leavenworth. I have very limited internet access there and a crazy hectic schedule so I can't update my life very often for you all. But the camp address is on my Facebook so if you want to send me postcards, letters, or anything really that would be awesome!
peace & love
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
The Chaos at the Consulate
The following documents a highly agonizing yet comical tale that occured last week and perhaps contians some of the most stressful situations I have EVER been in.
"shit, shit, shit, shit, shit"
That's all I was thinking at that moment when Julie and I were walking back from Starbucks to my mother who was in line at the consulate that fateful day when I realized I forgot my wallet. Julie was in town visiting me on her way back to Tucson and that was the day she, myself, and my mom went into San Francisco to get my VISA at the Consulate General of Italy. Getting a VISA is a complex process of gathering paperwork and documents and like the genius that I am, I forgot my wallet on that day which contains my IDs which are kinda important for stuff like this. My mom was furious of course. She said quote, "Danielle, you are in deep shit." And I knew it. But let me give you guys some background on the rediculous nature of the consulate general. You are only allowed to show up and wait in line mondays and thursdays from 1:00 pm to 3:30 pm. The website only tells you a limited list of documents that you need to aquire an Italian VISA and there are no phonecalls or emails allowed for questions or contacts. LAME.
So we got to the city early, found the damn place, and parked. But when I realized I did not have my ID, we got back in the car and headed back to the East Bay on a very awkwardly quiet ride. Except once we got off the Bay Bridge, my mom accidently got on the wrong freeway and we were headed further into Oakland, not on 24 towards Walnut Creek. After getting off that freeway then getting back on in the other direction, there were no exits approaching the bridge. So we had to cross the Bay Bridge yet again, going back towards the city, in the completely wrong direction. Very funny. Not (at the time). We paid $12 total in bridge tolls that day. The Bay Bridge is very long for those of you who are unfamiliar, and there is an island in the middle of the bridge, Treasure Island. So we exited the bridge on Treasure Island, drove in a complete circle around the island, got back on the bridge facing the other direction, and raced all the way back to Danville, in the further inland East Bay. When we arrived home, I found my wallet placed on the kitchen counter where I had left it. We were racing against the clock and my stomach turned at the thought of not making it back in time to get teh VISA. My mom had taken a day off of work to do this for me, and she had to be there to sign a document in front of the consulate, so not getting the VISA on this day would mean she would have to take another day off. During the entire ride there and back which felt like hours of agony, I felt like the biggest screwup ever for ruining the entire day we had planned. Once we got back to the consulate, things didn't get much better. There was a long, painfully slow moving line and we had just under an hour until the consulate closed.
The next agonzing portion of this epic tale is contained in the process we endured at the consulate itself. I have never been in a room with so many stressed out people in my entire life. When the line finally moved so that we were inside the building, the door of the consulate was closed behind us by the security guard. We waited and listened as person after person was being rejected their VISA by the fast talking Italian men behind the glass, conspicuously checking everone's documents with scrutiny until finally rejecting them. I felt bad for ever single person there, hands down. I knew my mom was pretty good at gathering the documents and making sure we had everything we needed but a part of me just knew something had to be missing. One student who hoped to travel abroad was rejected becasue she didn't have a letter from the insurance company addressing the consulate, saying that they had proper coverage. The website only specified that you have your insurance card with you but apparently if you have an HMO plan its different, but how the hell were they supposed to know that? We watched families of foreigners get rejected and argue with the men behind the glass but no luck, no mercy, rejected, royally screwed. One man in line said that if we thought this was bad, it was nothing compared to the American consulate. Apparently our own lovely government charges each person $2.50 for every minute they spend talking with the consulate inspector. However, I think the American system is much more organized. The Italians were chaotic and merciless and worked with the attitude of "you're on my time."
Finally, we reach the man behind the glass and I was freaking out. I was so nervous that I got flustered and forgot to tell him what the hell I was even doing and just managed to mutter, "I'm, I'm studying abroad...?" His meticulous inspection of my application, my letters from both Whitworth and the Cattolica, ISEP insurance, and our financial records took forever and every minute was painfully stressful. I kept waiting to be rejected. The man suddenly said that if was awfully strange that my acceptance letter to the Cattolica wasn't in Italian and that it shouldn't be in English because upon arrival I had to bring that document to the Policia. I argued a bit with him and said I was an American student and had been accepted into an American/English speaking program (IES) so of course they would send me my freaking acceptance letter in English. The man brought my document over to the other man who seemed to be his superior and that jabbered in Italian for a while enthusiastically and with big hand gestures. Finally the man came back to us and said, "I think this will work." So there. I got accepted for my freaking VISA after all that. After June 19th my mom can go pick up my passport with my VISA in it. Thank God.
So after that terrible yet highly comical experience, we drove down to the warf, devoured soup and breadbowls and ice cream and Ghiridelli Square (I never can spell it right) and drove around some swank neighborhoods in the City near the Presidio. It was entirely awesome. We got back that evening exhausted and I'm so glad we can all laugh about the experience now. ha.
I feel bad for anyone who has ever struggled with foreign governments, specifically the Italian government, or our own government in obtaining their VISA and other legal documents. It's a nightmare.
ciao bellas. I hope the rest of Italy isn't like the consulate general.
"shit, shit, shit, shit, shit"
That's all I was thinking at that moment when Julie and I were walking back from Starbucks to my mother who was in line at the consulate that fateful day when I realized I forgot my wallet. Julie was in town visiting me on her way back to Tucson and that was the day she, myself, and my mom went into San Francisco to get my VISA at the Consulate General of Italy. Getting a VISA is a complex process of gathering paperwork and documents and like the genius that I am, I forgot my wallet on that day which contains my IDs which are kinda important for stuff like this. My mom was furious of course. She said quote, "Danielle, you are in deep shit." And I knew it. But let me give you guys some background on the rediculous nature of the consulate general. You are only allowed to show up and wait in line mondays and thursdays from 1:00 pm to 3:30 pm. The website only tells you a limited list of documents that you need to aquire an Italian VISA and there are no phonecalls or emails allowed for questions or contacts. LAME.
So we got to the city early, found the damn place, and parked. But when I realized I did not have my ID, we got back in the car and headed back to the East Bay on a very awkwardly quiet ride. Except once we got off the Bay Bridge, my mom accidently got on the wrong freeway and we were headed further into Oakland, not on 24 towards Walnut Creek. After getting off that freeway then getting back on in the other direction, there were no exits approaching the bridge. So we had to cross the Bay Bridge yet again, going back towards the city, in the completely wrong direction. Very funny. Not (at the time). We paid $12 total in bridge tolls that day. The Bay Bridge is very long for those of you who are unfamiliar, and there is an island in the middle of the bridge, Treasure Island. So we exited the bridge on Treasure Island, drove in a complete circle around the island, got back on the bridge facing the other direction, and raced all the way back to Danville, in the further inland East Bay. When we arrived home, I found my wallet placed on the kitchen counter where I had left it. We were racing against the clock and my stomach turned at the thought of not making it back in time to get teh VISA. My mom had taken a day off of work to do this for me, and she had to be there to sign a document in front of the consulate, so not getting the VISA on this day would mean she would have to take another day off. During the entire ride there and back which felt like hours of agony, I felt like the biggest screwup ever for ruining the entire day we had planned. Once we got back to the consulate, things didn't get much better. There was a long, painfully slow moving line and we had just under an hour until the consulate closed.
The next agonzing portion of this epic tale is contained in the process we endured at the consulate itself. I have never been in a room with so many stressed out people in my entire life. When the line finally moved so that we were inside the building, the door of the consulate was closed behind us by the security guard. We waited and listened as person after person was being rejected their VISA by the fast talking Italian men behind the glass, conspicuously checking everone's documents with scrutiny until finally rejecting them. I felt bad for ever single person there, hands down. I knew my mom was pretty good at gathering the documents and making sure we had everything we needed but a part of me just knew something had to be missing. One student who hoped to travel abroad was rejected becasue she didn't have a letter from the insurance company addressing the consulate, saying that they had proper coverage. The website only specified that you have your insurance card with you but apparently if you have an HMO plan its different, but how the hell were they supposed to know that? We watched families of foreigners get rejected and argue with the men behind the glass but no luck, no mercy, rejected, royally screwed. One man in line said that if we thought this was bad, it was nothing compared to the American consulate. Apparently our own lovely government charges each person $2.50 for every minute they spend talking with the consulate inspector. However, I think the American system is much more organized. The Italians were chaotic and merciless and worked with the attitude of "you're on my time."
Finally, we reach the man behind the glass and I was freaking out. I was so nervous that I got flustered and forgot to tell him what the hell I was even doing and just managed to mutter, "I'm, I'm studying abroad...?" His meticulous inspection of my application, my letters from both Whitworth and the Cattolica, ISEP insurance, and our financial records took forever and every minute was painfully stressful. I kept waiting to be rejected. The man suddenly said that if was awfully strange that my acceptance letter to the Cattolica wasn't in Italian and that it shouldn't be in English because upon arrival I had to bring that document to the Policia. I argued a bit with him and said I was an American student and had been accepted into an American/English speaking program (IES) so of course they would send me my freaking acceptance letter in English. The man brought my document over to the other man who seemed to be his superior and that jabbered in Italian for a while enthusiastically and with big hand gestures. Finally the man came back to us and said, "I think this will work." So there. I got accepted for my freaking VISA after all that. After June 19th my mom can go pick up my passport with my VISA in it. Thank God.
So after that terrible yet highly comical experience, we drove down to the warf, devoured soup and breadbowls and ice cream and Ghiridelli Square (I never can spell it right) and drove around some swank neighborhoods in the City near the Presidio. It was entirely awesome. We got back that evening exhausted and I'm so glad we can all laugh about the experience now. ha.
I feel bad for anyone who has ever struggled with foreign governments, specifically the Italian government, or our own government in obtaining their VISA and other legal documents. It's a nightmare.
ciao bellas. I hope the rest of Italy isn't like the consulate general.
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